


Free Fall

by KestrelShrike



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Cerberus - Freeform, Disability, F/M, Illness, Mass Effect 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-01 02:18:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11476536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestrelShrike/pseuds/KestrelShrike
Summary: The start of something new. When Commander Shrike Shepard was brought back from the dead by Cerberus, she shouldn’t have been woken so soon. Her healing isn’t complete, her body still struggling to knit bits and pieces back. Thrust back into the line of duty, how can she fill a gap of two years and reconcile her own mortality? And how can she even contemplate her own feelings for Garrus Vakarian at the same time? Comments/feedback GREATLY appreciated!





	1. Death's Grasp

Though her world was one riddled with pain and exhaustion, Commander Shrike Shepard was unquestionably, brilliantly alive. Coming awake with a gasp, she felt every breath, a crackle in her lungs, but it was air and it was more than she had expected to feel again. Stumbling out of bed, she pulled on a tunic and pants and collapsed into her chair in front of her computer, scrolling through her emails with increasingly desperate clicks. So many cries for help, a few people reaching out to say they were glad she was alive, but none holding the message she wanted to see. No update on Garrus Vakarian, stuck in the Medbay. No word whatsoever. 

“Commander Shepard, Jacob requests your presence for a meeting.” EDI was another thing for her to get used to. With a start, Shepard stood up and stretched. The pain might go away, Chakwas said, but it might not. They could only wait and see. Cerberus had never intended for Shepard to wake up so early, and definitely hadn’t intended for her to be up and running before some rigorous physical therapy. Everything that could have gone wrong did, but what choice did she have? Her whole life had been running and there wasn’t any time to stop now. Death had just been a roadblock and not a stopping point. 

Rubbing an ache that had set deep into her neck and didn’t seem inclined to leave, Shepard stood again with a sigh. “EDI, if I knew coming back from the dead would mean so much paperwork, I never would have bothered.” A beat, a heavy silence, and “that was a joke, EDI.” 

Leaving the safety of her cabin behind, she contemplated the meeting ahead of her. Jacob was affable, even likable, but he was Cerberus and she needed to remind herself of that. Something had driven him to join the organization in the first place, and given their often virulently pro-human leanings, she couldn’t trust him with the rest of her crew just yet, not when she had already brought together a couple of aliens and planned on bringing many more on board. Until she figured out what Jacob’s angle was, it was best to keep her distance. 

At the same time, she owed Cerberus her life, such as it was. Broken, shattered, and brought back to soon, but it was life. Patting her customary bun to make sure it was still in place, Shepard entered the meeting room, still marveling how much the new Normandy felt like home already. All of this was incredibly dangerous, and she needed to keep on her toes, but it was so damn hard when all she wanted to do was take a long nap and hope to wake up to a world that made sense. 

Nodding at her, Jacob launched right into his briefing, mostly concerned with the events on Omega and what they had learned. Most of the intel concerned the gangs that ran rampant, now much diminished and lacking firm leadership. It wasn’t the last of them though- not by a longshot. They would be back sooner or later, this just a temporary stopgap in their battle to continue ruling Omega as much as Aria allowed. 

“Commander, we’ve done what we could for Garrus, but he took a bad hit.” It wasn’t exactly what she wanted to hear, though the sheer depth of how much it hurt to hear it surprised even Shepard. As far as she knew, she and Garrus were just friends- they had been close, before she had died, but this felt like something more, another complication that she didn’t have the time or the energy to deal with. She needed to focus on getting her own body to behave and heal without getting distracted, but something deep inside felt tight. 

“The docs corrected with surgical procedures and some cybernetics,” Jacob continued, “Best we can tell, he’ll have some full functionality, but…” His voice trailed off, leaving her to fill in the gaps. Cerberus could work miracles for her, but they could only go so far for a turian. 

Her face hurt; whether it was the scars or simply the effort of holding back emotion Shepard didn’t know. Rubbing the spot between her eyes, she was interrupted by a new voice joining their conversation, one flanged and deceptively casual. “Shepard.” 

Garrus stood in the doorway, half of the upper part of his armor scorched and destroyed, his face held together with bandages and medigel, lending a sharp, astringent smell to the small room. 

“You tough son of a bitch.” Jacob’s words reflected her own thoughts exactly, but she shot him a look. This was between her and Garrus now. 

“Nobody would give me a mirror. How bad was it?” Was honesty always the best policy? With Garrus, it probably was, and shit, he looked awful. Probably not any better than she looked, but at least she didn’t have an obvious bits being held together. 

Two truths and a lie. “Hell, Garrus. You were always ugly. Slap some face paint on there and no one will notice.” 

He laughed, noise cut off with a choke of pain. “Damn it, don’t make me laugh. My face is barely holding together as it is.” A legitimate concern- how much muscle and skin connected a turian mandible to the rest of his face? 

Their banter continued back and forth for a few minutes more. The scars wouldn’t be a bad look for him when he healed, but hell if she was going to admit that. Instead, she settled on, “If I’m walking into hell, I want someone I trust by my side.” There were things she found herself wanting to aside, quips and asides, but none of them were appropriate for the situation and for their relationship. Two years apart and she was expecting it to pick back up where it had left off, maybe even take that momentum to keep moving forward. 

“So, uh… How was dying, Shepard?” His tone was falsely bright, arms crossed across his chest. A slow ooze of red had started across his bandages just from talking, his jaw moving too much. 

“I say this with all due respect, but shut up, Garrus. That’s an order. Your face needs to heal.” She contemplated it for a moment; it was familiar, but now the entire topography had changed so much when he angled it even slightly. “There was nothing there. Just black. I don’t remember any of it. No bright light, no tunnel. Nothing.” It was like she had been asleep and then had come back awake, but… not the same at all. There were no dreams in death. 

Garrus gave a lazy salute and nodded. “That’s a relief to hear, strange as it sounds. When I was bleeding out there, I expected more.” Shit, she really had nearly lost him. 

“I gave an order, Vakarian.” Shaking his head at her, Garrus turned and left her alone with her thoughts. 

Death, it seemed, couldn’t hold either of them back permanently.


	2. Vulnerability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shepard and Chakwas discuss her medical condition, and Shepard finds herself not understanding how she feels about Garrus. 
> 
> As an aside, I'm really, really pleased with this chapter, so I'd love to hear how you felt!

Shepard’s eyes followed the light up and down, side to side until she could feel the strain. 

“Pupil response is good, Shepard.” Making rapid notes on a piece of paper in a show of quaint, old-fashioned medicine, Doctor Chakwas put the light down, giving Shepard a once-over. “And how is the left-side weakness?” There was something in the way Chakwas looked at her that told Shepard lying was an impossibility. 

“Same as always, doc. Comes and goes.” It came more often than it went, if she was completely honest. Mornings were the worst, joints racked by pain as they remembered how to work, reminding her that she was alive with pinpricks of pain so sharp it was almost exquisite. It was fortunate she was right-handed; on the mornings she woke with pain, it was difficult to even make a fist with her left hand. In the privacy of a cabin, she would use a cane to get around, leaning on it heavily, stretching her muscles or taking a hot shower until she could walk with only a hint of a limp, carefully making sure that she did everything with the right side of her body leading. At night, she shoved the cane under her bed, hating it for how much she relied on it, some other part of her embracing it for even allowing her to walk. 

Chakwas still staring at her, Shepard realized, waiting for an answer to a question that she hadn’t heard. “Sorry. Stuck in my own head.” It was a dangerous place to be. “Don’t start psychoanalyzing me today. I don’t have the time.” 

Cut off before she could start, Chakwas pursed her lips before repeating her earlier question. “I asked if you were still doing your exercises.” A polite way to say ‘physical therapy,’ the euphemism not lost on Shepard. 

It was time to cut the conversation off before it got too probing and too uncomfortable. Only Chakwas and Miranda knew the full extent of the damage done to Shepard’s body, and Miranda was laden with guilt over it, saying it was her fault Shepard had woken too soon. “I should have found an alternative.” It was impossible to talk to her about this, and Shepard got the distinct impression that Miranda didn’t even particularly like her as a person. She was an asset to Cerberus and nothing more. It was Chakwas who offered solutions, as difficult as they were. 

Standing and stifling a groan at a lance of pain through her left hip, Shepard answered, “Mostly.” It wasn’t like she had time every day. She had to be in the field, assemble a team, deal with the Illusive Man, face her own doubts… All in a short span of time, all with the threat of Collectors looming over her head. “When I have time, which I don’t right now. Let’s have a drink some time.” Whenever that time would be. And then, because she felt guilty, because she genuinely liked Chakwas and trusted the woman with her life- “I mean it. Stick some opioids in it so I’m in a better mood and we’ll be good to go.” 

Before Chakwas could raise a further objection, Shepard had left the room, doing her best not to limp, moving forward with determination and a slight bite to her lip as the only proof she was in pain. By the time she reached the door, she showed no signs at all. 

The Normandy was rushing through space towards Tuchanka, but there was still an hour or so to kill. The list of things Shepard could and should be doing grew by the minute, yet she found herself heading up a level, towards the crew deck. Stasis pods were on either side of her and then the main battery was in front of her. What the hell was she even doing here? Following her instincts had rarely led Shepard wrong in the past, but there was a gnawing in the pit of her stomach that said she had no good reason to be here. 

The door hissed open automatically and there was no way she could turn around and leave now. “Shepard, you need me for something?” he shot over his shoulder, not even needing to look to see who it was, keyed into the new, uneven sound of her feet moving. 

“Have you got a minute?” The question sounded stupid the minute Shepard said it, but she covered it by folding her arms and cocking a hip, moving weight off the left side of her body and trying to seem deceptively casual. If she knew where her mind was, she would have retrieved it and left before her dignity also fled, but as it was, she felt faintly stupid. This was Garrus, damn it. Before the events of two years ago, he had been one of her closest friends. That was it, and anything else had just been fooling herself, the result of too much tension and too much danger sending emotions haywire. 

“Sure. Just checking the weapons system. You can never be too careful.” Turning away from the console and machinery he had been examining, Garrus engaged in easy conversation with Shepard. All this years and it felt almost like yesterday. Two years though. That’s how long she had been out, and while Cerberus had been gluing parts of her together, Garrus had his own troubles, a new group of friends slaughtered and splintered apart by a single act of betrayal. The pain was still raw in his voice, though he hid it well. She knew him well enough though, even now. Even after all that time. 

“I don’t need you to agree with me, but I’d like your help.” How could she say no to that? With all the shit hitting the fan, there shouldn’t have been time, but Garrus’ fight against Sidonis was something Shepard was confident she could do, and there was little enough of that floating around. They would find Sidonis, and they would make him pay. 

The lull that came over them was awkward, something in the air that hadn’t been there before. It was like before, when bloodlust and desire to make an actual change brought something dangerously close to emotional resonance to the surface. “But what about you, Shepard? We’ve talked about me long enough.” Wanting to deflect, Shepard hemmed and hawed, but Garrus was adept at pinning her underneath his stair, one visored eye and one unshielded keeping her in place as effectively as his hands might. No, don’t think about that. 

“I’m fine.” The lie sounded hollow in her voice. 

“I’m really doubting that, Shepard. From what I’ve heard, your Cerberus branded body isn’t entirely up to scratch.” That was putting it mildly. 

“It is what it is, Garrus.” That was closer to the truth. “It’ll get better or it won’t, and not much I can do will change that.” To underscore her point, another twinge of pain shot through her left calf, making her wince, taking weight off it even further to stand awkwardly on one foot, swaying dangerously. At once, Garrus stuck his hands out, one catching her elbow and the other on her hip, steadying her and providing her something to lean on. Grateful, she was all too conscious at the same time, feeling every point of contact and keeping her best Commander face on. “I’m okay, Vakarian. You can let go.” 

It was a small consolation that when Garrus stepped away, he seemed as flustered as she felt, unable to hide his emotions as well as she could. “I… should go.” Before she reached the door, she had to sort out her limp, but she let him see a few dragging steps before swallowing the pain. No one else would be allowed to glimpse that vulnerability, but didn’t Garrus deserve it, after all this time?


	3. Death's Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations with Thane on death and life, jokes with Joker, an email from Garrus.

The drell assassin Thane was another mystery, but it was one that Shepard found herself pleased to confront. His dossier hadn’t explained who he was at all, and as a result, he defied expectation in a way that brought her outside of herself, focusing on something and someone else as a pleasant change. 

“I don’t trust him. He’s an assassin, Shepard,” Joker grumbled from the safety of the cockpit, shooting his remarks over his shoulder as he corrected their course by what seemed like inches, fingers moving swiftly over a nigh incomprehensible panel of lights and switches. 

Rolling her eyes at Joker’s customary distrust, Shepard perched on a narrow bulkhead, trying to steady herself. Spending time with him had proved as therapeutic as anything else, perhaps because there were no questions asked. Joker didn’t ask how she was feeling, or how her physical therapy was going. He didn’t ask anything at all, unless it was related to the Normandy. Between ship and woman, she strongly suspected he would pick having the Normandy back any day, and it was a relief, to be honest with herself. That didn’t mean she had to take everything he said as gospel truth, though. “Calm down, Joker. He’s fine. I’m due to go have a conversation with him anyway.” 

As she turned to leave, Joker turned the chair around to face her, face grave. “Commander, if there’s one thing you need to remember, it’s not to lick him.” 

A momentous, weighty silence fell over them for a span of five seconds before Shepard burst out laughing, Joker’s face cracking a moment after hers. “What the hell does that even mean?” She had no plans to lick Thane, now or in the future, but she had to know what had inspired the comment in the first place. 

“You haven’t seen the vids? I can pull one up right now-”

“A description is fine, Joker.” 

“Drell-licking. It’s a thing in certain circles. Makes you high. You see colors that don’t even exist.” He sounded slightly wistful as he spoke. 

Fascinated despite herself, Shepard asked, “what do the drell get out of it? Wait, no. Forget I asked that.” The expression on Joker’s face, a distinct leer, was answer enough. “Just get back to work.” She still had to go speak to Thane, and it was going to be impossible to do it without thinking about drell licking now. Thank you, Joker. A real asset to the team. 

The sound of laughter followed her out of the room, face burning at the thought. A few moments in the hall and she had composed herself, spirits feeling considerably lighter than they had in weeks. It was strange how the pain seemed less now that she was happier. Or maybe it just didn’t bother her as much. Something to mention to Chakwas, though Shepard could picture the therapy that would be suggested after that. Probably something to do with laughter and watching funny vids. Not the worst idea in the world, actually. 

Life support’s hum was a comforting reminder that all aboard the Normandy was well. Sometimes when Shepard turned her head and saw parts of the new ship that resembled the old, she remembered the crash, the flames and death. Here, the white noise drowned it all out so she was able to focus, as if she actually inhabited the current time and place instead of stuck adrift, just like her body had been in space. No. Stop that. She had come here to make sure Thane was comfortable and settling in, not to drown in self-pity. 

Knocking on a bulkhead, she approached him cautiously. Thane’s hands were folded in prayer, head inclined, just as he had been on her previous visits, and he seemed to be in a trance. The minute she stepped within his cone of vision, however, he seemed to come awake, eyes following her, head slightly inclined as he invited her to stand and speak. 

“Just wanted to see how you were doing.” The words were awkward, the same she refused to hear, laden with sympathy that seemed almost false, no matter how much she meant it. Things were so much more simple before she had the Normandy, and doubly so before she had died and come back. 

“I am well, Shepard, but I have questions.” Questions she could deal with, and she let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Ship specs and mission parameters filtered through her mind, organized into lists of importance and timing and what the Illusive Man was riding her ass about this week. 

Nodding her head, she said, “I’m an open book.” It wasn’t anywhere close to the truth. 

“When you died, what did you see? Was there a great sea, some beyond, or was there nothing at all?” His tone was so earnest, the possibilities so open. 

She felt like lying. Thane was dying; it was a fact he had established early on, and one that wouldn’t change. He had no desire to do any of the things she would do, frantically clinging to life. His acceptance was inspiring even as it was confusing, but he needed this. He needed to know there was something beyond ragged gasps and a body that failed you a little bit more each day, and she couldn’t even give him that much. So much rested on Shepard’s shoulders, and she had failed so many people before, but she had never felt it as keenly as she felt it now. 

“I didn’t see anything, Thane. It was just black, and then I woke back up.” There had been flashes of pain, distant voices, presumably all after she had been resurrected but was still kept in a coma. “But maybe it was because I was brought back. Maybe you can’t remember.” It was the only thing she could offer him. 

Silence descended over the two of them, Thane bowing his head once again, a silent supplication that she didn’t interrupt. “That is good to know. I would like to gather my thoughts now. Thank you, my friend.” The dismissal wasn’t entirely unexpected, but as she walked out, Shepard let her hand rest on Thane’s shoulder for just a moment, giving it all she could. Even as she was about to leave the room, Joker’s conversation came back up, totally inappropriate, the humor mixing with the sorrow in a way that made her grimace strangely, glad that Thane couldn’t see it. Life continued on, didn’t it? You learned to laugh again, even when it wasn’t appropriate to laugh at all, because the alternative was so much worse. 

Get yourself together, Shepard. Mentally scolding herself, she prepared to continue on with her day, only to have her omni-tool buzz. Urgent message coming in through email; hustling back to her room, she flicked it open, reading the same few words again and again. 

_I found Sidonis._

Her reply was of a similar length, a fire igniting in her that she couldn’t ignore, a desire to do something, anything to help Garrus. Especially for Garrus. She wanted to question it, but why not ride with the emotion for a while?

_Let’s go get him._


	4. Loyalties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's clear that Garrus is no longer who he was two years ago, but is Shepard? Can she convince him not to kill, or will she ruin whatever is blooming between them? 
> 
> Feedback always appreciated. <3 Shout out to my beta readers for this chapter!

To the people on the Citadel, Commander Shepard was a legend and a ghost. How had she not come back before now? With all the other shit on her plate, it had just escaped her mind, and if she was going to be honest with herself (it had to happen some time) she didn’t want anyone to see her like this. Scars, a slight limp, those few seconds of lag that the left side of her body presented. It all added up; maybe she wasn’t recognizable as who she had been before at all, and maybe that was a good thing. Certainly no one seemed to give her a second glance as she walked out from the Normandy, flanked by Garrus and Thane. Bored eyes slid off them, people more concerned with trying to get into the Citadel than with dealing with newcomers. 

Her anonymity continued as they pressed through the crowds trying to get past security, granting them the kind of wide berth only given to the heavily armed. It might have continued of the turian guarding the entrance to the Citadel proper hadn’t stopped her, looking at his omni-tool with a puzzled expression, finally saying, “According to this you’re dead.” 

Shooting a glance at Garrus (who offered only a shrug in return,) Shepard gave a false chuckle. “I was, but I got better.” 

The guard gave her the once over and gestured her through to his immediate superior with a look that said dealing with a resurrected ex-Spectre was far beyond his pay grade. It was better for all of them involved- this Captain Bailey could know where the supposed ‘Fade’ was, another step closer to Sidonis. That Bailey could wave her through, let everyone know that she was, technically, not dead anymore was another nice bonus. 

“You ready to do this, Garrus?” They had a warehouse location for their contact, just off some of the main shops in the Citadel. The day had become real in a way it wasn’t before, Sidonis no longer an abstract notion of revenge but within Garrus’ grasp. 

One hand reached back to touch the butt of his sniper rifle and he nodded, eyes hard even beneath his visor. “Never been more ready, Shepard.” His conviction was impossible to argue with, but Shepard continued to lead the way, glancing back now and then as she did so. 

Thane looked as troubled as she felt, finally pausing to tap her on the shoulder, pulling her aside. “This is not my fight. This is not my vengeance.” His brows were furrowed, as much as possible, and his hand squeezed her shoulder once. Shepard knew that Thane would stay if she asked him to, and she couldn’t say she wasn’t tempted. 

“Go enjoy the Citadel. You haven’t been here in ten years. Have fun.” What Thane would do for fun she didn’t know, but his obvious relief made her feel slightly lighter. What remained was between Garrus, herself, and Sidonis. Anyone else was just an extra complication that no one needed. Hurrying to catch back up to Garrus, she spared one more glance over the shoulder to Thane’s retreating figure before steeling herself. It was time. 

****  
Of the supposed Fade there was little to say. Exhausted from a fight spanning a long warehouse, culminating in twin mechs, Shepard could only lean against a wall and pant, trying to hide how much her left leg was paining her, how exhausted her left arm was, as if it didn’t even want to hold up the weight of a gun anymore. With glazed eyes, she watched Garrus’ interrogation reach a fever pitch, punches and kicks, shoving Harkin against the wall. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised he had showed up again. He was a rat and had always been one. 

Then Garrus reached for his pistol, and Shepard pushed herself away from the wall, taking one shaking step and then another, pulling his gun hand down quickly and efficiently, feeling him first resist and then yield. “You don’t need to shoot him. He won’t be able to hide from C-sec now. Sometimes you just have to let things go, Garrus,” Shepard said, hypocritical as ever. He shot her a look that sent something cold through her insides, something that didn’t bare considering. 

“I guess it’s your lucky day,” Garrus finally said, breaking the silence. 

Wiping sweat and blood from his eyes, Harkin replied, “Yah, let’s do it again real soon.” Trash. Shaking her head, Shepard turned her back on the man, walking out of the room. They knew where Sidonis would be now, and she didn’t need to see what happened next. The crunch of flesh and bone meeting hard turian plates was enough. Sometimes you just had to let the anger out. Sometimes you wanted to see a face punched in. Nothing was ever enough to let that rage flow.

****

The shuttle ride back from the warehouse was mostly silent, Garrus staring straight forward, Shepard looking at him from the corner of her eyes, watching as his hands twisted and turned, unable to hold still. It wasn’t until the car was settling in on a soft puff of air that he bothered to speak, still not looking at her. 

“Harkin’s a bloody menace. We shouldn’t have let him go. He deserved to be punished.” 

This wasn’t the Garrus she had known two years ago, the one she had gotten so close to. This was someone new, but wasn’t she also something different? More serious, less likely to laugh. Still… “I’m getting a little worried about you, Garrus. You were pretty hard on Harkin.” The point seemed to hit home; Garrus looked at her once, but their exchange was devolving into something else, an exchange of hurt that only drove her former point further into the heart-he had changed. No one went through two years of hell and came out unscathed. 

Garrus was so hard now though. They had barely laughed together since she had found him again, it felt like they wouldn’t again. If he wasn’t the same person, who was she? Not even the same body anymore, the flesh not belonging to herself anymore. But part of her missed the old Garrus, even mourned him. Two years of time had been suspended for her, but for him they had pressed onward, changing him. What she felt for him though… That remained the same. Even the new Garrus.

Resignation. Exhaustion. “What do you want from me, Shepard? What would you do if someone betrayed you?” Questions she wasn’t equipped to answer. 

“I’m not sure, but I wouldn’t let it change me. I miss you, Garrus.” It was the closest she had come to discussing her emotions since she had been brought back, and it was only met with another long silence before Garrus moved straight into the plan. 

****

“Don’t move.” Shepard’s head bobbed back and forth, trying to keep in front of where she knew Garrus was sitting and waiting, scope primed. Even if he shot her in the back of the hea; so what? She had died once and found her attitude varied wildly between shivering fear and a kind of laissez-faire that now suffused her. 

Grabbing Sidonis’ shoulder, she felt the turian tear away from her. “Get off me!” From the start, it had been clear he wanted nothing to do with her. At least he didn’t recognize her. Small blessings. 

She couldn’t let Garrus take the shot; that much was clear. As long as she kept Sidonis talking, as long as she kept stepping in front of the gun, she could delay it a few moments more. “Don’t do it Garrus. Please.” And then the gun was lowered, Garrus turning away. She had managed to talk him down, but at what cost? This was far from over.


	5. A Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard finally works up the courage to talk to Garrus again, taking a leap she didn't expect, pushing their relationship a step forward. But will he reciprocate?

It was impossible to delay talking to Garrus any longer. He had been by her side as they baked in their armor, dodging deadly lances of sunlight to rescue and recruit Tali, but he had been relatively silent the whole time. Late one evening, Shrike Shepard caught Garrus and Tali speaking, voices low, and when Tali placed a hand on Garrus’ knee she didn’t like the spasm of jealousy that ran through herself. It was irrational, but it made it that much easier to avoid him. 

Now she stood near the entrance to the main battery, stomach somewhere in the vicinity of her throat. “Got a minute, Garrus?” She knew damn well that he did, but the last real thing she had said to him was ‘I’m with you.’ 

He turned away from his work (calibrations, maybe) and looked her up and down before shrugging and saying, “Sure. I’ve been meaning to thank you anyway.” It wasn’t exactly the most ringing endorsement, and there was a tension in their friendship that there hadn’t been before, all resting on Sidonis, on how Shepard had stopped Garrus from taking that last shot. 

“It wasn’t a big deal, Garrus. Not for an old friend.” She rubbed the back of her neck, feeling so utterly out of her element, longing to have a gun in her hand and an army of husks charging at her rather than this. Anything but this. 

“Maybe not to you, Shepard.” Fair point. “But it means that whatever we face, I know you’ll get the job done.” For the first time in a few days, Garrus smiled at her, and Shepard forgot what she was saying entirely, train of thought trickling out her ears. Should she mention Sidonis again? Should she apologize for intervening? For all the things she had learned on the battlefield, how to handle her own crewmembers was not one of them. They’d just been handed to her, first on the original Normandy and now on the SR2, her own fragmented mind trying to remember everything they had been through together. 

Into the silence, Garrus said, “You seem… stressed, Shepard. Anything I can do?” The offer was a tenuous reach towards what they once had. 

With a sigh and a faint hint of a smile, Shepard perched on a nearby bulkhead, legs dangling, not quite tall enough to touch the floor. “What do turians do to let off stress?” Though she had intended her question to be completely innocent, Shepard’s tone came out saucier than she intended, falling back into their previous conversational rhythms, a hint of flirtation just below the surface. Roll with it, she told herself. He won’t notice anyway. 

It was the right question to ask. Garrus rolled into his story with considerable enthusiasm, and Shepard could feel herself fully relaxing, shoulders rolling forward, elbow on her knee and chin on her fist, raising her eyebrows where appropriate and laughing at the conclusion of the story, a tale of lovers past that she was relieved to find left no jealousy whatsoever. Maybe she could be cured of… whatever this was. Her brain’s obsession. Some artifact, something that hadn’t knit together correctly when Cerberus woke her too soon. Maybe all it would take was some tension-relief of their own.   
“We could test your reach… and my flexibility.” The words spilled from her mouth before Shepard had a chance to really consider, the grin that spread across her face crooked and slightly leering. What was she doing? Enjoying herself. Hoping to get rid of her complicated feelings towards Garrus, to bring things back to normal. 

He was taken aback, staring at her with mandibles slightly open and Shepard found herself shrugging. It was strange how death made you re-prioritize everything, take risks you never would have before. 

“Shepard, I’d break you!” he finally exclaimed, not looking her in the eye. 

The laugh started somewhere low in her belly, building up in her chest and her throat until she couldn’t keep it in anymore, and though it hurt Shepard’s facial scars, she laughed until tears streamed out of her eyes, bent double and wheezing, only doubling Garrus’ concern until he went over by her side, patting her back hesitantly and looking utterly lost. “Garrus, you’re not going to break me,” she choked out, standing up until she could breathe properly again. “So, is that a no?” If it was… Well. Shepard wasn’t sure what she would do if it was a no. 

Silence, and then Garrus gave a goofy grin. “Why the hell not?” The logistics of it were something they would both have to figure out; no one could deny that turian and human anatomy left something to be denied in the compatibility department, but he was willing to try if she was. There was no one Garrus respected more than her, or so he claimed, and while respect wasn’t attraction, wasn’t that four letter word Shepard wouldn’t even think about, it was a start. 

Okay. She should leave instead of just lingering, wanting to kiss him, wondering if turian mouths would even handle it. It wasn’t like he had lips. Well, at least the research would be interesting. “I should go. I’ll talk to you later, Garrus?” It wasn’t intended to be a question, but the upward inflection in Shepard’s voice came out, unbidden. 

“I’d like that.” He still looked slightly goofy, watching every step as she walked towards the door, making Shepard aware of her limp, of every scar that riddled her body. Half of her thought this was a terrible mistake; she was barely a woman at all, after what Cerberus had did to her, and she certainly wasn’t the same person Garrus had known before. But the other half of her had faint goosebumps, not unpleasant, at the thought, not sure what drew her to him but drawn nonetheless. 

All she had proposed was a roll in the sheets, and Shepard was still half-convinced it would clear the confusion in her mind. 

If that was the case, why did she want so much more?


End file.
